


The fallen King

by 20This_too_shall_pass18



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Hurt Peter, Other, Peter Pan - Freeform, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-17 00:10:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16505387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/20This_too_shall_pass18/pseuds/20This_too_shall_pass18
Summary: This takes place a few years after season seven. Peter Pan upon having found Neverland uninhabited decides to go to Storybrooke for a brief visit. Upon having visited the townspeople remember what he had done last time and their bitterness leads to his imprisonment in a mental hospital.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place a few years after season seven. Peter Pan upon having found Neverland uninhabited decides to go to Storybrooke for a brief visit. Upon having visited the townspeople remember what he had done last time and their bitterness leads to his imprisonment in a mental hospital.

“I am going to ask you this again. What were your intentions?”

A bright light shone into the teen’s face causing him to cringe against the light penetrating his eyes. It had been a few years since he had returned to Storybrooke and now he was being held in a mental institution. The teen had been placed into a cell with high surveillance and with no contact with the other patients. The conditions inside his cell were similar to that of a medieval dungeon, as far as hygiene was concerned. The bed railings were brown and rusted and the sink was covered in some form of black mould. The water that spewed out of it was brown and smelt like rotten eggs. The mattress he was to sleep on had various stains that he was unsure of what their origins were. The very thought of sleeping on it had caused him cringe. There was no mirror. No dresser or air vent within the room. Windows also appeared to be non-existent. The only light source was a single bulb that was just out of reach and even then, the light source was dull and inconsistent. Why hadn’t he escaped you may ask? For starters, the moment the trickster was captured he had been placed into a deep sleep. This was achieved by spiking a drink he had bought at the local diner. From that point, squid ink had been repetitively used to prevent him from escaping the bonds holding him. Word had spread of his few weaknesses, and as a result the asylum doctors had put together a concoction so that he would be without any magic. It was as though he were a normal teenager, the only exception was that he was not normal. The teen was often neglected privileges to go mingle with fellow cellmates and would rarely be allowed out of his cell. In general, he was unable to do much as he constantly had an electric collar around his neck, a tracking anklet on his leg and was placed in a straightjacket at all times to ensure that he got up to no mischief. As far as the hospital guards were concerned, one could never be too careful. The teen was considered as dangerous as a snake on a hot summer’s day. Conniving, deceptive and dangerous.

Far too dangerous to be trusted or to have the guards turn their backs on him for even a second. He was often interrogated for past events that seemed to far back for him to memorise. Quite often sessions would lead to some form of torture to obtain some form of answers that he could not give them. Besides, even if he could remember he would never tell them. Due to his choices the consequences involved some form of torture, whether it be physical, emotional or psychological, it was used against him to exhibit what would happen to him if he were to step out of line.

It was on this day that Pan finally cracked. The guards had removed his straightjacket and had strapped him into a chair with wires. The teen had never seen a contraption like it but the wires reminded him of vines. This was only a reminder of how powerless he was without his magic and how deeply he missed feeling it coursing through his veins. It was obvious that the teen had been given hell as black bags lined the underneath of his eyes and his face was considerably pale. His hair was messy and matted as he had no mirror to fix it and there was no brush to comb his hair. His lips had the appearance of a drought and his eye almost appeared to be glazed over. His throat was raw from screaming and it was a mystery if the teen would still be able to speak.

“I am going to ask you this again. What were your intentions?”

It was at these words that the brunette snapped out of his daze. He stared expressionlessly at the interrogator, his lips remained without motion as he waited to be taken back to his cell. The interrogator, upon deciding that he was sick of the silence hanging over the room, pressed his foot down on a pedal located underneath the table. If the walls had not been soundproofed the screams emanating from the teens mouth would have been audible throughout the building. Electricity jolted through the teens body as he convulsed in his seat. Once the man had removed his foot, the teen sat in the chair with a wide-eyed expression. Smoke rose from the chair and from the wires.

“I only wanted to live! That’s all!” He exclaimed in a dry yet panicky voice. The interrogator, finally finding some satisfaction from the boy’s information made a gesture for the psychologist present to begin jotting down notes. Doing as she was told, she began to hurriedly write in her small notepad on the brunette’s behaviour.

“How many people did you kill while you were in Storybrooke. We are aware of your somewhat dysfunctional bloodline, but for now we will push that matter aside. It isn’t like any of the people who you once cared for ever loved you back. Detachment from loved ones is a common trait amongst psychopathic murderers like yourself.”

“The word you are looking for is sociopathic.” Pan corrected with a tired yet angered glare.

“It is good to see you know the difference, but this is from the assumption that you once had people who cared for you.” The corrected before slamming his foot down on the pedal. This was followed by another round of screams and convulsions. Only once the man had finished did he answer the question.

“I killed no one. I was unable to have the opportunity to do so.” He lied as he glanced from the interrogator to the psychologist. The psychologist nodded her approval for the interrogator to electrocute him yet again. “Lying will not get you out of this Pan or should I say Malcolm.” The man said as he removed his foot from the pedal. A separate guard came in carrying a small black case before placing it in front of the psychologist, as though it were some prize he had just handed to him. The case was opened to reveal a syringe alongside a vial of clear fluid.

“I am guessing you are familiar with truth serum.” The man said as he loaded the needle with the liquid. “Once applied to its victim,” He stated as he walked around the table and pushed it into a vein in Pan’s neck. “The ability to withhold the truth begins to hurt. If you resist the serum will cause you a great deal of pain. Now tell me, did you commit murder whilst you were here?” He questioned as he sat back down at the table and awaited an answer.

The brunette winced as he felt the effects of the serum coursing inside his veins. He panted as though he had returned from running a tiresome marathon. The exposure to the electricity and the serum was beginning to take its toll on him. When he had caught his breath, he went to answer the question.

“I didn’t-“He began before the serum kicked into his system. He gasped in pain whilst the interrogator simply chuckled.

“You can’t hide anything now trickster. Answer the question.” He said as he awaited an answer. Pan’s face contorted into a mask of pain as he tried to withhold the answer. The very thought of admitting to who he killed overwhelmed him with guilt. Within a few moments of straining against the serum, he broke out into a fit of gasping and spluttering as he finally gave his captors the answer.

“I killed him! I killed him!  Killed him!” He said as he began to tear up. He shut his eyes tightly as he tried to rid himself of the image that was in his head.

“Who did you kill?” The interrogator asked firmly. This was met by a groan and a few more tears. He shook his head and winced as he tried to hold back the information.

“I can’t- “He began before the serum kicked in yet again causing him to cry out in pain. This was only a reminder of the harm he had committed to the person who had cared for him most.

Upon deciding that he wanted more answers, the interrogator pressed his foot harder on the pedal. As a result, screams followed by sparks and smoke filled the air. When he lifted his foot, the smoke cleared to reveal a very emotionally distraught teen.

“I killed him! I killed my best friend! I killed the one person who cared about me most!” He said as his voice warbled. Tears began to stream down his face. The interrogator leaned forwards until his chest was fully over the desk.

“Why did you kill that person?” He asked as he observed the boy. When he received no immediate answers, he slammed his hand down onto the table. “Why did you do it?!” He yelled.

“I needed his heart! I needed it to cast a curse.” He yelled back before his voice quietened into a whisper. Grief and regret clouded his mind as he now realized there was hardly any point in casting the curse. In the end it had simply brought the heroes closer together in opposition to tearing them apart.

“Now tell me, who was it that you killed? It wouldn’t have been a blood relative. Most of your blood relatives are no longer living if my records are correct.” The man stated. He sighed angrily when all he received was another round of silence. The teen was a thorn in his side to say the least.

“I killed him… I killed my best friend… the person I cared for most… I killed him…” He muttered under his breath. The sound almost came out like a chant.

“Who did you kill? I need names boy!” The man yelled as he went to place his foot back down on the pedal. At seeing the motion of the man’s leg, he quickly answered.

“I killed Felix! I killed my best friend! I killed him! I crushed his heart and took his life!” He exclaimed as a sudden surge of memories flooded through his mind. Ever since he had gone to the Underworld he had been trying to forget about what he had done due to guilt and regret. But now that the truth serum was possessing his thoughts and emotions, he could no longer pretend it never happened. It was only now that he was able to fully process what he had done.

“I killed him… I killed him…” He muttered under his breath as he was forcefully taken removed from the electric chair and placed back in his straightjacket. The combination between the truth serum and electricity now had sent him into an inaudible rambling fit. The interrogators only wanted answers from the boy. They did not care what the torture methods they used had on his health.

“We will start again tomorrow. But this time, we will bring in a witness to his crimes.” The interrogator stated as he straightened a few files on the desk. “For the time being, this investigation will be put on hold.”


	2. internal tangle

It had been about a day since the boy had gone in for what the asylum guards had called "a civilized discussion". But he knew that if anything, what the interrogator had done was not at all civilized. Not even in the slightest.   
Having genius intellect became useful on his part as he was quick at problem solving and puzzles. Over the course of the few years he had been kept inside the asylum, he had been setting mental puzzles for himself to solve in order to keep his wits about him. Of course, the prison guards had no knowledge of this. He even recited century old lullabies he had once sung to his son, who if he knew of his current predicament would have seen to it that, he would die a slow and painful death. The brunette knew that to some degree he deserved to be punished for his sins. But if anything, he wished to be understood. But no matter how many times he had looked for a shot at redemption, his life slowly crumbled apart. 

Over the course of the one day he had been inside his cell which he now called home, he had thought deeply about the murder of his loyal companion. Of course he felt regret, guilt and a deep sadness that stabbed at his heart but he also knew exactly why he had done it. In his mind there was no loophole. No alternative. For the curse to work he had to use the heart of the thing he loved most and that was Felix. At the very thought of his long lost pal his eyes watered. It had been his fault and no one else's. 

The teen had made a mental note of the almost numbed pain he felt inside his chest, where his heart was positioned. If he weren't in a straight jacket, he would have reached his hand into his chest and brought his heart out to examine it. But, not one living soul in the asylum trusted him so that was not an option. Even the shock collar would be triggered if he even tried to open his mouth whilst he was in the cell. As the guards worried that he would start a riot over some airy word or threat. For the time being the only sounds he could make were quiet sobs and sighs as he reminisced the past. The teen missed the outside world.   
How the sun used to warm his skin when he went for a stroll on a summer's day or the way the forest smelt back on the island and what it was like to stand around the bonfire. He missed all of these things dearly and wished that he could at least have a glimpse of the part of him that had been blocked off. 

As time wore on, he could also feel himself decaying along with the island. What many did not know was that in some ways, the island was apart of him. Thanks to the hourglass that his soul was tied to. Without proper care and the place he had called home would soon perish along with himself. It was only a matter of time before he slowly faded to nothing. His shadow's warning still ran through his head. A bitter smile crossed his face as he remisced the words he had once uttered. "What happens if it runs out?" He had asked. The shadow as it hovered menacingly towards him, replied "Your youth will run out... and you will die!" A quiet chuckle escaped his throat as he realized how foolish he had been to even think that there may even be a glimmer of hope left for him. Even a speck. But no. After his standoff with the heroes it was now clear to him. They were heroes. They fought the battles. They experienced adventure and made friends. They wooed the girl or guy and got married and lived happily ever after. Even the villains that turned good, experienced this. But villains? All they obtained was sadness, hopelessness and retaliation if they even tried to attempt to gain some form of happy ending for themselves. There appeared to be no hope for villains and no salvation. 

They were doomed. It was during his time in the cell of his asylum that he came to a sudden realization. As his son had told him when he had vanquished him in the Underworld. At the very thought a tear rolled down his cheek.

Villains get no happy endings.


End file.
